


ASTRAEA

by Enchantable



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Peace Negotiations, Secret Relationship, Wartime AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-03-05 14:12:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18830302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enchantable/pseuds/Enchantable
Summary: In 2008, Alex goes to bed thinking his world has ended and wakes up to find that everyone’s has. Aliens have attacked earth, killing thousands. But first they touched down in Roswell to collect three of their own.In 2018, a fragile truce has been struck between Antar and Earth. Colonel Alex Manes is brought in to discuss peace with the King’s brother and closest advisor General Rath.





	1. Chapter 1

Alex goes to bed knowing his world has ended.

 

Michael’s scream rings in his ears, long after he’s watched his blood trickle down the drain. There is no amount of water in the world that can fix what has happened. He’s gotten the person he loves hurt, his father did it because he’s weak. He cannot win the fight against himself, his desires, what hope does he have of winning against his father. He’s used to his father’s strikes, but those are blows his brothers have all suffered. His father suffered from his grandfather. They are normal. Taking a hammer to someone else is not normal, though, logically, Alex knows his father has killed people. His father guards his door the entire night, though Alex knows he can’t go after Michael. He also confiscates all of Alex’s electronics. All Alex can do is pray Michael doesn’t contact him either. He needs him to be safe.

 

He is surprised his door is unlocked when he gets out of bed in the morning. Carefully he makes his way into the kitchen, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart. He may be in trouble but he knows to take care of his basic needs. He cannot afford to add more weakness to the list. Coffee in hand, he follows the sound of the tv into the living room. It’s odd for the tv to be on at this hour. Much less to a channel that doesn’t follow his father’s political preferences. His father is sitting in front of it, looking satisfied. More satisfied than Alex can recall seeing him in a long time. He doesn’t even look over as Alex comes closer to the tv.

 

“Yes folks, you heard it right! We are not alone in the universe. In this exclusive video from Roswell, you can see the first sign of intelligent life!”

 

He drops the cup.

 

Michael is instantly recognizable. He stares at his own blood-soaked pillowcase, still wrapped around Michael’s hand. He’s silhouetted in front of the bright lights of an alien ship. His face is wet from tears and sweat. Dimly Alex thinks this is not how Michael would want people to see him. Next to him are the Evans twins. They are all staring up at the light. They don’t even look scared, they all look like they’re in shock.

 

Except then Max raises his hand and it’s glowing.

 

Alex falls into the couch. He stares at the redness in Max’s palm, praying to a god he doesn’t believe in that it’s some trick of the light. Max raises his glowing hand, Isobel follows suit and to his horror, Michael does the same. The video cuts out and the newscaster comes back on but Alex can’t hear anything over the roaring in his ears. Michael’s got a glowing hand. Michael, who he kissed in the UFO emporium, has a glowing hand and isn’t in shock, he’s surprised. He always found his friendship with the Evans twins odd, but like a brother suddenly means something more. The three of them are aliens.

 

“Shortly after the bodies of three locals were found,” the announcer continues, “whether these deaths are connected or not remains to be seen, but sources say all three had glowing handprints on their bodies.”

 

“Who were they?” He asks.

 

“Rosa Ortecho was one of them,” he says.

 

“I have to call Liz,” he says, thinking of his friend, “I need my phone—“

 

“Just watch,” his father says.

 

“The Roswell Attack had the lowest casualties of any event last night,” he says.

 

What follows is a montage of destruction. The firepower is devastating, Alex can barely wrap his head around it. People don’t even get the chance to scream. Michael’s scream is still ringing in his ears and these people don’t get a chance to make a sound. It’s not just Michael’s blood that stains his hands, it feels like all the blood spilled over the past few hours is there because of him. He always thought Michael was all talk about hating humanity, but each comment takes takes on a new meaning. Michael hates humanity for a variety of easily justifiable reasons. But now Alex is watching him destroy it. The attack is smart, it covers so many parts of the globe that it’s impossible to contain it. Everyone has to know. He has left them no choice. The tv goes black and his father turns to him.

 

“You are in a unique position,” he says, “you know more about these things than most,” he says, “Rosa was not the only sister who died last night,” he continues, “this is a declaration of war. We’ve spoken about you enlisting after graduation, but I will give you permission to join now.”

 

Alex stares at him. Saying he’ll think about it isn’t the same as agreeing, but he never had any intention of coming back here after his eighteenth birthday. Now the entire world has changed. He doesn’t know what has gone on with Michael, what role he had to play in this. But he knows Michael is one of them. He knows that what happened last night, it played a role in this. He finds himself nodding his consent like he’s a different person and his father’s pleased look makes him want to throw up. He cannot just obey his father though. Not if he’s about to go off to war. His weakness has to end now. He forces himself to stay sitting as his father stands and towers over him.

 

“They didn’t start this,” he says, “you started it last night,” he tells his father, “those deaths are on your hands. All of it is.”

 

“Change and let’s go to the recruiting office.”

 

“Did you hear what I said?” Alex demands.

 

“I don’t expect you to understand,” his father tells him, “this was inevitable.”

 

The smug look suddenly makes sense. He really is going to be sick. His father knew. The entire time he knew. His father knew Michael was an alien and he didn’t. He tastes bile and the closest thing to sympathy he’s ever seen crosses his father’s face. Jesse Manes doesn’t sit back down. But he does relax slightly, bringing his height slightly closer to Alex’s.

 

“It’s alright,” He says, “we both have a chance to make this right now. The sooner we end this, the fewer people have to die for our mistakes.”

 

When Alex went to bed, he thought his world had ended.

 

When he wakes up, he learns that it’s not just his.

 

But somehow both are his fault.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Surrender,” Max orders, “I will not ask again.”

 

Michael tightens his grip on their prisoner, pressing his blade slightly harder into his skin, just to make it very clear that Max isn’t joking. On his knees, Kivar glares silently up at them. Michael looks at Max. He’s not going to surrender, they both know that. But if they aren’t better than him, then this coup will have been for nothing. Max ducks his head and Michael flexes his hands, refusing to acknowledge the start of a muscle spasm. In one smooth motion he pulls his blade across Kivar’s throat and takes his head clean off with the return strike. He steps back as electricity sparks from Max’s fingers and the man who ruined their lives and put them at war with everyone they knew catches on fire and roasts in the throne room.

 

“He’s dead,” Max says unnecessarily.

 

“You’re King,” Michael echoes back.

 

They’re both stunned. For the past decade they have been plotting this. Max and Isobel have been political prisoners, slowly gathering support and resources while publicly supporting the man who killed them in another life. And Michael, Michael has been fighting for him. He has no great love of earth, but he’s also never been much of a soldier. Or so he thought. Apparently he’s a hybrid clone of the greatest warrior that Antar has ever known. And apparently genetic breeding gives him muscle memory he didn’t know he had. He remembers how to fight. He commands the army. He’s spent a decade fighting two wars simultaneously and now both are poised to end.

 

“Make sure he’s really burned,” Isobel says. Her gown is stained with blood but the only reason this worked is the well placed dagger she sliced Kivar with, “the clones are gone. Once he’s done, that will be it.”

 

None of them can quite believe this is ended. The coup is done and the figurehead is gone. Michael can say he’s fought a war now and a whole new kind of fighting is in his arsenal. He’s never been good at this sneaky political thing. Except he’s pulled off a coup. An actual coup. Max is on the throne and they can finally put an end to Kivar’s war against earth. He grudgingly has to admit that he would like to stop fighting the blue planet. He doesn’t love the place, but the assault on it feels wrong. He smiles at Max as Max makes his way to the balcony. He ends the civil war in a few hours with a wave of his hand and its fucking awesome.

 

He wishes he could tell Alex.

 

The thought occurs to him abruptly, like always. He never actively summons the decades old memory, it just comes to him. Usually at the times when his fingers lock up. Antar has a healing power that’s unlike anything on earth but each time it’s offered, he turns it down. It’s a reminder. A reminder of human cruelty, a reminder that he should not ache for a world that rejected him. It reminds anyone that sees him what the enemy can do. Now it’s less jarring, he’s not innocent anymore. He is just as cruel and vicious now as the people he fights. But it’s still there. It reminds him that once he was innocent as much as it reminds him he has every right to be a monster.

 

The self flagellation is never complete without remembering Alex.

 

If he’s alive, he definitely doesn’t look the same. Or maybe he delightfully does. Actually Michael can’t think of anything better than the notion of Alex tucked away in some fortress somewhere playing his guitar and being a little shit to every authority figure. Maybe he even makes jokes about banging an alien. Michael knows the possibilities are slim but when he imagines Alex’s future, that’s how he likes to do it. Sometimes if he’s feeling particularly awful he likes to think of him as happy and with a new guy, maybe one who kind of looks like he used to. And Alex has a family that’s tucked away safe somewhere. No civilian attacks is the only thing he’s managed to accomplish that’s not completely monstrous. Alex hated his father and Michael can’t see him ever doing anything to be like him.

 

“Now we have to save earth,” Isobel says, watching the people cheer for their rightful king, “do you think anyone we knew is still alive?”

 

“Maybe,” He says, “I never checked, I couldn’t risk it.”

 

Kivar would come for anyone he looked into. So he’s spent the past decade torturing himself with what ifs when it comes to the one person he wants to know about. Protecting Alex was the best thing he did, he know that in his bones even if some part of his DNA is still disgusted that he didn’t strike Jesse back. But Kivar is a charred pile of something on throne room floor. He isn’t even bones after Max makes sure to eradicate his DNA. He could go right now and look. Without risking Alex.

 

But then he would have to find out the truth.

 

Michael’s entire life has been marked by a complicated relationship with the truth. He’s always been lying in one way or another. Which side he’s on, what species he is, he’s never had a day where a lie hasn’t slipped past his lips. Finding out the truth scares him. A decade later he’s not the boy who tackled Alex’s father. And if the best possible future he could think for Alex has come true, he’s a family man who has no need for the man whose been fighting him for a decade to come back now. Better to live with it than risk Alex. It’s the mantra he’s always told himself. Ending a war doesn’t change that.

 

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” isobel says, “come on.”

 

The cheers stay the same as Isobel walks out until she embraces Max. A decade by Kivar’s side means that most of the people don’t know how to think of her. Michael can’t wait until they learn the truth and worship the ground she walks on like she deserves. Max is King and he’s a General but Isobel is a spy. She’s the only reason any of this actually worked. Taking a deep breath, he steps out onto the balcony himself.

 

“It’s General Rath!” Someone screams.

 

“General Rath!”

 

A hundred calls of his name surprise even him. The noise grows truly deafening. Antar is a society of warriors. They understand the language of violence and survival. Every facet of him fits into this place like he’s never fit in on earth. No matter the side he’s on, he has established himself as someone the Antarians can respect. Max and Isobel outrank him but the pride in their eyes as the people cheer is the only thing that matters. When he embraces them the noise cranks even more.

 

“It’s over,” he says unnecessarily, “God, it’s finally over.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Antar had a coup earlier.”

 

Alex frowns until his trainer clears his throat, reminding him that news of a possible civil war won’t finish his exercises. From her perch on the stool, Liz glances up at him to gauge his reaction. Alex looks ahead and moves forward on the bars, careful to distribute his weight. Liz looks at the screen she’s reading from and tugs a stylus from her bun, freeing her long black hair. She ties it up with a rubberband and taps on it.

 

“Intelligence says Kivar is dead and Zan is King now.”

 

“Zan?” He says. Liz gives him a look, “still on the meds,” he reminds her.

 

“Right, sorry, their new King is the alien formerly known as Max Evans,” she says.

 

It’s been a long time since Alex heard one of their names. Liz and him have a silent agreement to never acknowledge the people they were. It hurts and it puts them at risk. Everyone already questions them for coming from the same place as the aliens who brought the war here. Making it clear they have no association is a survival mechanism. It’s taken countless interrogations to convince everyone that they don’t care. They aren’t traitors. Now finally no one seems to even remember.

 

Alex wishes he was so lucky.

 

But forgetting, like most luxuries, isn’t something he allows himself. He is, above all things, a soldier. He’s fought endless campaigns and gotten so many victories, but he knows it will never make up for his part in bringing them here. All the blood is on his hands. He remembers his father’s final words, spoken through blood splattered lips as he died on some craggy, faceless cliff crushed by his own plane. Remember. Remember this is on you. So Alex remembers and fights harder than anyone to make up for what he’s done. Not just for himself but for everyone. And he always remembers.

 

“I need to move up my detox schedule,” he tells his trainer.

 

“Colonel Manes, that’s probably a bad idea, you’re on the lowest dose already—“

 

“I know,” he cuts in, “move it up anyway. I’m sure someone else could use it. It won’t interfere with our sessions.”

 

“You’re ahead of schedule, we could slow and your recovery would still be remarkable.”

 

“No,” he says, “we need to move ahead. If our position changes, I need to be up there with my fighters.”

 

He maneuvers himself back to his wheelchair and sits down, easing off the bottom third of his leg. His trainer snaps on a pair of gloves and inspects the wound. If it was up to Alex, he would be back up there already, but it’s not. His leg will decide when he gets back there. Alex feels betrayed once again by his own body. His weakness is abhorrent. But the only thing he can do is overcome it. Or stop fighting all together and he won’t do that.

 

“Who else was with King Zan?” He asks Liz.

 

“His sister and General Rath,” She says.

 

Something in his chest loosens. General Rath has been missing from their last several campaigns according to their intelligence reports. At the very least he’s the devil they know and for the past ten years, the casualties have been horrific but they could have been much worse. Ever since he woke in the haze of drugs and missing part of his leg, his thoughts have dragged towards him. No small part of his need to detox and have his mind back is to eliminate the risk of slipping up and using General Rath’s actual name. But that’s a guilty indulgence. Really he needs to get back there.

 

“I need to go back to the lab,” Liz says regretfully, “but I’ll swing by later and update you.”

 

“Thanks,” He says.

 

Liz clasps his shoulder and nods to his trainer before slipping out into the endless maze of the tunnels they live in. Alex watches as his trainer applies a fresh dressing to his still swollen leg and looks up at him.

 

“Do you think we have a chance at peace?” He asks.

 

“I hope so,” Alex says, “whatever happens, we’ve fought well. Sometimes that’s the most important thing.”

 

His trainer nods.

 

“I’ll take you to Dr. Valenti,” He says, “to discuss the detox protocol.”

 

Alex nods his consent and prepares to fight another kind of battle.

 

God he can’t wait to get back to his plane.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Colonel Manes, Sir!”

 

The attache salutes him and Alex returns the gesture as best he can. Next to him, Kyle scowls. He has a truly spectacular scowl, especially with several days of scruff on his cheeks. Kyle does not like being interrupted, especially not by the military and especially not when he’s interrupted by the military treating a member of it. The attache is undeterred by the scowl, mostly. When he steps aside and two of the Generals walk in, Alex gets why. Kyle doesn’t salute but the scowl drops.

 

“Colonel Manes, how is your recovery coming?”

 

Alex is immediately on guard. These men could find out anything they wanted, they are at war. Or were. His abilities and necessity and his father have kept people from digging too deep into his past. Though honestly it’s not as if a decade old high school fling is something that’s hard to explain. He looks at them and puts his best poker face on. His father is gone and the war is over and he will go with dignity. If they want him to be the fall guy, he will not give them anything.

 

“Dr. Valenti?”

 

“It’s coming along,” Kyle says, “he’s pushing himself hard and taking minimal medication for the pain,” he tells them. Alex nods. The Generals look at each other.

 

“How is walking?” One asks.

 

“Walking?” Kyle repeats, “we’re working on it.”

 

“How many steps can he take? Would increasing his pain medication help?”

 

“What’s this about?” Alex cuts in, unable to listen to the conversation happening above his head. The General nods at the attache who does a few clicks on a thin device that sends white noise into the surrounding area. Privacy is a commodity in the close quarters they live in, “sir?”

 

“I’ll speak candidly, you hold the honor of having the most successful campaigns against General Rath. According to Antarian politics, you may be the only human who is qualified to negotiate.”

 

Alex really doesn’t mean to laugh. It’s wildly inappropriate and everyone in the room looks somewhere between disapproving and being stunned. But the idea is so completely laughable he doesn’t have much of a choice. Alex is a lot of things but none of those are a particularly good negotiator. Especially not where the one person who has always compromised his judgement is involved. He cuts his laughter off as quickly as he can, but it still clings to his chest. They’re serious though. They’re very, very serious.

 

“The last time General Rath and I fought,” he says, “I had two legs.”

 

“We understand, it doesn’t change your standing in their society,” the General says, “no one else comes close to your record. They know it.”

 

He barely manages to say that Michael has long forgotten him. Probably doesn’t even remember him. Alex may have more commendations than he knows what to do with, but that doesn’t mean he comes close to the level of a General. That he ever will. It may be war, necessity may take precedence and he might be a damn masterful fighter. But he’s still a gay man. His father was still a monster. The whole illusion of who he is comes toppling at a second inspection and everyone knows that too.

 

“Sir, I really don’t think I’m the best person for this,” he says.

 

“Of course not,” the second General agrees, “we have people who are. Your job is to do PR,” Alex has to make sure he’s not being fed drugs, “with the Antarians.”

 

“Then I’m really, really not the right person,” he stresses, “there’s got to be someone else.”

 

“There isn’t,” the first one says, “the Princess Isobel said that General Rath will only speak to you.”

 

It surprises him to hear Isobel’s name on their lips. Though honestly if he had to peg anyone for being a secret alien Princess it’s probably her. She always managed to look royal and God knew she had her side eye down even then. He knows that the other two more often go by their names from Antar, but not her. Any time he’s heard her mentioned it’s always always as Isobel.

 

He recognizes this for what it is. What he isn’t sure about is how much these Generals know. They could know everything, he has to accept that. He doesn’t let himself focus on the brief glimmer that maybe General Rath remembers him, has thought about him at all. That thought will do him no good. If anything, if he has thought about him, it’s probably just as the man who gave him a reason to stop believing that there was anything on earth worth saving.

 

Or staying for.

 

“Alright,” he agrees, “what do I need to do?”

 

* * *

 

 

“General Rath, Sir!”

 

Michael waves off the salute that’s given to him. All the military propaganda he was raised on and honestly the best he can do in terms of respect for the chain of command is to think that any with him at the head is deeply flawed. Fortunately it only really seems to come up when they are in the much nicer quarters of the palace. There is a great equalizer in battle. No one seems to care about his rank there. Which is great because Michael doesn’t really care about it either. It’s hard to care about something that’s just been given to you, he’s finding.

 

“What’s up?” He asks.

 

“Sir, your sister would like a word.”

 

“Now?” He really, super does not want to be dragged off to more prep for this sham of a meeting. Isobel’s the best versed in Antar tradition, she’s the one making the decisions, “could you tell her that I’ve got more prep to do? I can’t just look the part and not know what I’m talking about.”

 

“Yes, sir,” comes the reply, “my sister is the same way.”

 

Michael grins. The shine of people accepting they are family just because they say so is great. Even after a decade. Antar thinks of family in far more generous terms. The bond that the three of them has always been acknowledged, at the very least. His reply goes to be delivered and he turns back to the book of etiquette and laws he’s reading through. If he’s here to be a figurehead, he will be one who doesn’t just stick his foot in his mouth. Especially not when it comes to facing off against someone who has tried to kill him multiple times. He’s done the same to them, he is willing to call it even, but that doesn’t mean he wants to mess this up.

 

He’d like to use his hands for something other than violence.

 

He turns his wrist over and looks at the misshapen joints. He needs the reminder. His people need the reminder. He doesn’t know if he hopes he killed Jesse Manes. Maybe he does. But he also hates the idea he deprived someone of a father. Which makes no sense, he’s deprived a lot of people of fathers. Fathers, sons, countless people. These negotiations need to go well because he doesn’t want to keep doing it. He can kill, he doesn’t want to. It’s a standing joke among the soldiers that while he has the most high level kills, the big and public ones, he actually has the lowest body count. More saves than kills. Apparently he has that in common with his genetic predecessor. What he doesn’t want to have in common is getting murdered, in no small part because he gets violence better than diplomacy. Or because Isobel kills him, which is looking more and more likely to happen.

 

He pushes back from the table and his book.

 

Sitting still is something he’s never excelled at. Apparently across two planets. He refuses to name the feeling in the pit of his stomach. The nerves that have been creeping all day—longer if he’s being honest. He knows he’s reaching a boiling point. Finally he moves to the more advanced side of record keeping and lets the bio scanners confirm he is who he claims he is.

 

“Look up Alexander Manes,” he says, “origin Roswell.”

 

“Record located. Colonel Alexander Manes. Scheduled for arrival in the neutral zone in 72 earth hours.”

 

Michael drops into the chair and stares at the picture.

 

Alex is clean cut and wearing all the trappings of a Colonel of the Air Force. He feels nauseous. His dreams of a punk guy sitting safe in a bunker somewhere still playing the guitar with his adopted children and perfect husband die a soundless death. Instead there is just this nightmare. Alex isn’t safe. Alex hasn’t been tucked away at all. Those faceless enemies aren’t faceless because there is only one reason Alex would ever be heading to the neutral zone. Michael thinks about the last time he saw the plane on Alex’s record. He thinks about watching it go down. He stares at the commendation Alex got for his bravery. He walked away which is good. But Michael can’t figure out how. He doesn’t want to think about it and stares instead at the photo. At this nightmare combination of a man he loved wearing the look and expression of someone who still makes his fingers ache.

 

Alex has been here the whole time.

 

He wants to kill someone and die in the same breath. How could he have been stupid enough to hope for Alex being somewhere else. His stomach turns. He’s seen the news footage and he knows Alex has a guilt complex a mile wide.Even random news people have commented on his hand, questioned if the injury was the thing that brought the aliens to earth. No one thinks about the three girls anymore. They just think about that. He reads Alex’s record, victory after victory, honor after honor. Reckless decision after reckless decision. God, the whole time. He’s been here the whole time and Michael isn’t sure he’s ever felt so human in his entire life.

 

And now Alex is here for this bullshit PR negotiation.

 

Antar is screwed.

 

This is the kind of shit Alex excels at, he’s been talking people into circles for way longer than they’ve been adults. Alex is pretty much the only reason his father never went to jail, even though he should have. Because Jesse Manes is the only person Alex ever feared in a position of authority. Michael does a quick check and both feels great that Jesse Manes is deceased and vaguely nauseous as he remembers the fight and knows there’s a good chance he shot him down. But if Alex isn’t safe at least he doesn’t have to deal with his dick father.

 

Stumbling to his feet he all but throws himself into the hallway. He needs more help than these books are going to gethim, but first he has to have a very strong conversation with his sister about what is and is not important to convey when asking for someone to come speak to you. She definitely knew this was going to happen. Not mentioning someone for a decade definitely might make it seem like they aren’t important but at the moment he doesn’t care. He needs to yell at something and Isobel is always down for a good argument without it turning into a therapy session like Max tends to make things.

“Isobel!”


	4. Chapter 4

Seventeen is not an age Alex ever wants to revisit.

 

If the universe is conspiring to tell him one thing though, it’s that what he wants doesn’t matter.

 

Alex is fine with it, he’s not a kid anymore and he gave up things like want when he inadvertently started an intergalactic war. He’s on a decently high dose of the pain medication, allowing him to walk and put pressure on his leg without looking injured. They’ve hidden him away for most of his recovery so he knows how it looks to have him weak. He’s a war hero, whatever that means. He needs to look unscathed. Fortunately it just looks like he has a slight swagger, which he can compensate for. He’s dressed in a pressed uniform with sharp edges and an alarming amount of medals on his chest. He’s the first to arrive in the designated neutral zone and there’s nothing to do but review and wait.

 

He’s familiar with the sight of low earth orbit. A lot of the battles are fought here. Or were fought here, he supposes. The last time he saw it was before his plane got shot down. It never ceases to amaze him how dehumanizing the battlefield is. They aren’t people up here they are metal birds. It’s impersonal. In a way that he’s not sure war ever should be. It feeds right into the propaganda that rules earth, that unites it. Only the reminder that one of the metal birds carries a man he loved makes it different for him.Tells him they are different. But he does his best not to think about that. He can humanize them but at the end of the day, he needs to make sure his fellow pilots get through this. Which is exactly what he needs to do right now, no matter what happens when those doors open.

 

The doors slide open, Alec turns.

 

Suddenly he’s seventeen again.

 

Michael looks the same and at the same time he doesn’t. The Antarian ceremonial uniform isn’t sharp edges or starched collars, it’s a long robe that falls around him in folds of shimmering green and gold. A wide band goes around his torso. It’s his face that’s the same, just a little more weathered and sporting more facial hair than Alex remembers ever seeing on him. But it’s not his or his clothes that Alex is drawn to.

 

His hand is the same.

 

Antar has unparalleled healing. But Michael’s hand is the same mass of twisted and scarred flesh that his father put there. That he put there. Alex only glances at it but the image is burned behind his eyes, replacing that of the bleeding and swollen limb he wrapped in his bedsheet and begged Michael to get help for. When he looks up, Michael has an easy smile on his face and Alex is suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to get as close to him as he possibly can. Whether he wants to hit him or kiss him, he can’t say. He just wants to be close. He puts that desire to the side with everything else and steps forward to greet him formally.

 

“Hey Alex, long time no see,” Michael drawls, like they aren’t on opposite sides of a fucking war, “you been busy?”

 

Fine. He can do this.

 

“Not as busy as you,” he says, “I’m not a General.”

 

“Genetics,” Michael says and doesn’t elaborate, “look at you making your daddy proud.”

 

Alex rolls his eyes at the jab.

 

“Your last air raid missed him by half a mile,” he lies.

 

“Too bad,” Michael replies.

 

Shame curls in Alex as any spark of hope he had that his father was wrong goes out. He feels vaguely sick as he sees final evidence that this is their fault. His fault. His father is dead, there’s only him left to carry the weight of their sins. At the very least he can try to make sure that no more blood is spilled because of them. He motions to the table.

 

“Shall we?” He asks.

 

“Yeah let’s get this shit over with and save your planet.”

 

The transition from standing to sitting isn’t great. But Alex manages. A sharp lick of pain slices through the pain meds but it only serves as catharsis from theemotional agony he’s experiencing. He leans into the hurt and shifts his weight, placing his feet flat on the ground as the holograms on the screen come to life. Something must show on his face because when he looks at Michael, there’s a questioning look there. Desperate for anything to get them off topic he nods towards Michael’s hand. Michael shrugs and holds it up, his grin turning smug and making everything suddenly harder. He looks seventeen again.

 

“What can I say? Chicks dig scars.”

 

Alex’s stomach drops. Michael is right.

 

They need to get this over with.

 

As fast as possible.

 

Midway through, Michael stands up.

 

“Where are you going?” Alex questions.

 

“I gotta take care of something,” he says. Alex frowns, “I gotta piss, okay? There’s like twelve layers in this thing,” he snaps, suddenly feeling very young and badly dressed in front of a man who somehow makes a handcuff necklace look cool.

 

Michael does have to pee, but more importantly he has to be sick.

 

It’s fucking with him. God, it’s messing him up seeing Alex like this. It’s like his father has won and corrupted him and Michael wants to shake this monster until Alex falls out and straightens his fishnets and swipes under his eyes to make sure his liner hasn’t run. This whole fucking time he’s been there. Right there. How can he have been so stupid to think that Alex was happy and safe somewhere? How is he such an idiot?

 

He flushes all evidence of his mess away. Thank god he made sure they didn’t blow up the platform so there’s still the ability to quietly be sick and dispose of it before the person you’re trying to hide it from realizes. Go him. He’s a real saint in all of this. How many of Alex’s friends has he killed? How the hell hasn’t he accidentally killed Alex.

 

Why the fuck is Alex lying about his dad being alive?

 

Oh, right, because Alex is a good little solider and Michael probably murdered him.

 

He can’t go back out there. He can’t. He can’t face Alex or any of this, he doesn’t give a shit what his genetic superiority is supposed to allow him to do. Maybe it’s that same breeding that genetically predisposes him to love those who will choose someone else. Rath gave his life, Michael gave his hand, if there was ever an argument against cloning this is probably it. Michael splashes water on his face and fixes his robes. Technically there are supposed to be more layers but it’s a floor length robe, no one is going to notice what’s underneath and his jeans and t-shirt are way more comfortable than more layers of this fabric. 

 

Besides the UFO Emporium shirt is his lucky shirt.

 

He didn’t mean to steal it, he was gonna give it back except then Antar came and he obviously wasn’t at school the next day. Their hands had been shaking too badly to look for his shirt so Alex had shoved the first article of clothing he could find at him. It made sense that it was a UFO Emporium shirt, Alex had dozens probably. The shirts stopped smelling like Alex but it reminds him of him. Now it feels like a brand against his skin. Alex has him and he would hate him more if he knew.

 

Thankfully the robe is fucking thick.

 

No one has to know anything. Michael makes sure that it’s fastened anyway and steps out, returning to the room. Alex is quiet and looking over something. The doors hiss open and he leaps up, smacking his hand against the table. Of course he’s taking these things seriously. He’s unaffected and Michael needs to get his head in the game before he starts another fucking war.

 

“At ease,” he says and Alex frowns. He drops into the chair and Alex lowers himself with military precision. Like he’s been training to sit like that his entire life, “you look sick,” Michael tries, but it comes out accusatory instead of concerned like he means.

 

“Just the lights,” Alex dismisses, “shall we?”

 

Michael nods and tries to focus so they can get the hell out of there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the thing I hate about aus is keeping track of everything. Because you can reference a wiki. To help fix that I made an info page over on tumblr that I am going to try and update with new information etc as it comes out! 
> 
> https://planetsam.tumblr.com/ASTRAEA


	5. Chapter 5

“Clear the room, clear the room!” Kyle’s voice is loud and angry and Alex almost wants to cry.

 

He doesn’t, but he lets Kyle steer him over to the narrow bed. He already has gloves on and his movements are calm and sure as he undoes the hidden fastenings on the leg of Alex’s pants and checks the drain bag before unhooking it and taking off the bottom third of Alex’s leg. Alex forces himself to regulate his breathing as Kyle undoes the sleeve and takes it off, moving the bag as he goes. He checks over the skin and his face gives away nothing. He looks up at Alex.

 

“How bad is it?”

 

“It’s going to be fine,” Kyle tells him firmly, “you just stressed the skin.”

 

Alex lets out a harsh laugh. Kyle’s careful mask cracks a little bit and Alex give into his own weakness and finally throws his forearm over his eyes. Kyle has literally seen inside him and Alex would honestly prefer that to what he might see at the moment. Kyle gets up and throws his gloves away before making sure the door is locked and returning to where Alex is laying. Alex moves his hand to look at the bag Kyle is putting up of clear fluid and running a tube down. Panic stabs at him and he pushes himself up.

 

“No more drugs. Kyle—“

 

“Easy it’s just fluids,” Kyle says, “you’re dehydrated.”

 

Alex looks away.

 

Little things are difficult and he can’t risk standing for long periods of time, he especially can’t risk falling in the bathroom. This is as much about how things look as what they actually say and he needs to represent everyone. So not going to the bathroom is important. It’s clear from his face that Kyle does not approve. Not as his doctor, not as his friend. He ties a band around Alex’s forearm and starts the IV in the crook of his elbow where the bruise can be hidden.

 

“So how was it?” Kyle asks.

 

“Fine,” Alex says shortly.

 

“Really?” Kyle asks.

 

“Of course not!” Alex snaps, “I told him my dad was still alive,” he says, “I told him we were fine. I lied through my teeth the entire time and he just nodded.”

 

“So you’re mad at him for believing you?” Kyle asks as he works on cleaning Alex’s leg.

 

Alex looks down.

 

He doesn’t know what he’s mad about. Maybe the fact that Michael looks so good and he feels like shards of a broken doll. Maybe that Michael could leave him behind so easily, attack him so easily—that all of this gets to be easy for him. But then Alex remembers his hand. His father was the final straw. If anyone deserves to have something be easy, god knows it’s Michael. If it’s easy for him to look away and forget everything that happened on earth, that is a good thing. Alex can recognize his own weakness in wanting Michael not to do that. He just has to treat it like any other weakness and do his best to eradicate it from his system.

 

“I’m not mad at him,” Alex mutters.

 

“Well, good,” Kyle says, “it would suck if you were trapped here with someone you hated,” he raises an eyebrow.

 

Alex scowls. They are effectively trapped here so the world can see the negotiations taking place without knowing what’s being said. They are not on earth but above it in low orbit. Just that, being closer to earth, is a sign of them having more ground than Antar. But they are effectively stuck here in a series of interlocking chambers until this is done. The Antarian’s have their own ship that functions as their part of this. Alex knows this is about peace but it seems wrong to have that thing docked to their platform.

 

“I don’t hate him,” he says.

 

“Now that i believe,” Kyle remarks.

 

“I just don’t get how he can be so fine,” Alex admits finally.

 

“Maybe he’s not?” Kyle offers.

 

Alex shakes his head. He feels like a monster for the momentary stab of hope. Hope that Michael is affected like he is and God, what kind of monster is he for that? If Michael is alright, then that’s a good thing. Kyle looks at him hopefully and Alex sighs. People can change but Michael’s lack of a poker face is something quintessentially him.

 

“He is, Michael’s a miserable liar. He always has been. If he wasn’t, I’d know.”

 

“Really?” Kyle frowns, “didn’t the guy hide the fact that he was an alien for the entire time we knew him?”

 

Alex takes back every nice thing he ever thought about Kyle Valenti.

 

* * *

 

 

“Calm down,” Isobel says, finally dropping the soothing tone and going full big sister, “Michael!”

 

“You don’t get it!” He cries, not stopping his pacing as he tugs on his curls, “you didn’t see how he looked at me. I made him sick,” he drops his hands and looks at the screen where Isobel is, “he was supposed to be safe, Iz!”

 

Isobel softens and Michael wishes there was something more to do than understand. If he looks from Alex’s perspective, it looks like there’s been one war being fought. Michael’s never loved earth but his priority has always been taking down Kivar and getting Isobel free. He’s never wanted to destroy earth for the fun of it. He can make it about honor or whatever he wants but the truthis for a brief moment he felt like he belonged on the planet. One man, one moment, it shouldn’t be worth so much to him.

 

“Why don’t you tell him about Kivar?” She asks.

 

She shouldn’t be able to say the name so easily. But she does because she’s a fucking badass. Michael still has days where he can’t say Jesse’s name. Isobel still manages to be a good person, whereas Michael is ready to give up this entire hair brained idea because Alex looked at him funnily. Because Michael killed his father. Oh this just gets worse and worse. He could tell him about Kivar but it would put this entire thing at risk. He can’t do that. He can’t. And only Isobel would put his stupid happiness on the same level as the well being of two planets.

 

“We can’t risk it,” he says, “it’s too soon. We need to know we can establish peace.”

 

“What’s the point of peace if you’re miserable on both worlds?” Isobel asks.

 

“I don’t know, Iz, billions of lives?”

 

Isobel gives him a look that lets him know where her priorities are. That’s easy from the palace on Antar, or it would be if she hadn’t just single handedly saved two worlds.

 

“Think of it as motivation,” she says.

 

“How were we engaged again?” He demands

 

A momentary look of disgust passes over her features and Michael shudders at the thought. Isobel is his sister. It’s the clearest divide between him and his genetic forefather. Rath may have loved Vlandria but Michael gets nauseous at the idea of sleeping with Isobel. He can embrace everything about his previous life except for that, he’s got a clear fucking line on that one. Thankfully Isobel is very clear that she is not the same.

 

“Dumb luck,” she replies with a sigh, “you can’t be so fortunate every lifetime.”

 

Michael cracks the knuckles of his damaged hand and Isobel winces. She keeps asking him to let it be healed and he keeps refusing. Even now that the war is over. He used to need it to remind him why he couldn’t go back to earth and just beg for Alex’s forgiveness. Though now that’s kind of pointless because if he eve worked the courage up to go back to earth, Alex would probably be up there trying to kill him.

 

“I gotta go talk to him,” he says.

 

“Michael, be careful,” Isabel urges, “we’ll be there in a few days but until then—“

 

“I’ll be careful,” he says, “love you.”

 

“I love you too,” isobel tells him and the call ends.

 

Michael fastens his robe and makes his way into the rest of the platform. There’s the Antar side, the earth side and the super, duper neutral zone that makes him roll his eyes at the unnecessary aspect of it. He and Alex could probably figure everything out if there wasn’t all this pomp and circumstance around things. He feels ridiculous as he weaves through hermetically sealed corridors with artificial gravity and comes to the guard. The man’s hands tighten on his gun.

 

“I’m here to speak to Colonel Manes?” Michael says and it comes out like a question.

 

“Wait here,” the guard says and steps into the confines of earth’s section.

 

Michael knows how ineffective United States government can be. He was a ward of the state for most of his time on earth, he knows the flaws of a system that says it does its job and fails at it spectacularly. The doors hiss open and he can see down the corridor. They slam in his face. A moment later the guard comes back and the doors hiss open again.

 

He sees Alex.

 

Somethings wrong.

 

Alex is in a wheelchair. Being pushed by Kyle fucking Valenti of all people. Michael’s mouth goes dry and a roaring echoes in his ears. Alex is supposed to be safe or he’s supposed to be trying to kill him, he is not supposed to be in a wheelchair being pushed by Kyle Valenti. The guard is in his face and Michael realizes he’s one step from a full on invasion of what is technically earth.

 

“Colonel Manes is unavailable,” the guard says and the doors close on the tail end of a sound of pain Alex makes.

 

Michael stares at the guard.

 

He’s not going to get any answers and he wants to break down every door. But the guard, this cannon fodder, is a kid and Michael finds he can’t do that. Instead he nods and walks back along the corridors to his section of this hellish place. Like earth he’s got guards in front of his doors, men that he has fought for and alongside. They look concerned and he pinches the bridge of his nose.

 

“If Colonel Manes comes here let him in,” he says, “if someone named Kyle Valenti comes here, stun him on sight.” 

 

“Yes, sir.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

The last time Michael set foot on earth he was leaving it.

 

Even now they’ve been sequestered on a space station in low earth orbit. But the have to go to earth and do some stupid photo op. And okay, maybe it’s not the worst thing in the world. Everyone on the planet is aware of him but the picture they’ve seen is him standing maimed, pale and completely traumatized, with his hand smashed in and a really stupid expression on his face. It’s not exactly the image he wants immortalized. Which is totally the reason he takes a long time with his hair and puts on maybe one of the extra layers before taking it off and sticking with his usual negotiations outfit of of Alex’s stolen shirt and his favorite pair of jeans.

 

At least he gets to fly them down.

 

Alex steps onto the ship slowly and looks around. Michael is doing his final checks as Alex takes in the foreign layout. Out of the corner of his eye, Michael sees him hesitate a moment before brushing his fingertips against the foreign hide that covers the seats. It’s the Antarian equivalent of leather which, as far as he can tell, is pretty much the same thing. It just smelled slightly different until they were able to replicate the process. Not that Michael is sentimental about earthly leather or that dumb jacket Alex would wear every second he could. Now Alex is in a military uniform that’s made of—Michael actually doesn’t know what it’s made of. He looks over at Alex and when their eyes meet, he jerks his head at the seat next to him.

 

“Don’t you have a copilot?” Alex asks.

 

“Sure,” Michael says, nodding to the seat again, “it’ll look great,” he reminds him.

 

Alex gives an eyeball that Michael realizes he’s sorely missed and maneuvers himself into the seat. It’s awkward to watch and Michael wonders if it’s because of the aches and pains that a decade of war will give you, or because some part of him wants to touch as little of the Antarian material as he possibly can. Neither makes Michael feel better. Alex settles himself into the seat and looks for the belt.

 

“Scoot back,” Michael tells him.

 

Alex presses back into the chair and the belts unwind and snap around him. Alex goes completely rigid and flattens back, which has the effect of making them tighten. Michael reaches over and hooks two fingers into the strap closest, careful not to touch Alex and gives a tug, making it go looser. It’s hard not to laugh at the look on Alex’s face. Then again, when it happened to him the first time Michael had full on shrieked in surprise. Even in this weird circumstance, Alex manages to keep his cool a lot better than Michael ever seems to be able to.

 

They disengage and Michael navigates them from the space station to their checkpoint. The ship glides beautifully and even with all the strangeness, Alex can’t help but relax fractionally. Like being with a good driver. Or so Michael can dare to hope. Alex and he have been to this place countless times over the past decade to try and kill each other. It seems strange that now they’re entering the atmosphere with the express intention of something as stupid as taking a photo. He docks the ship where directed and powers down. Before he can help, Alex has worked out how to take the belt off and is pushing up to his feet. They step out onto earth and Michael pretends that it doesn’t mean a thing.

 

They’re stopped at the checkpoint by a nervous looking young man.

 

“I’m sorry Colonel, General,” he says in rapid succession, “You have to go through a scan.”

 

The kid looks like he’s going to wet himself and Michael feels bad. This kid probably grew up smack in the middle of their war. They may have killed his parents. The fact that he’s not pissing himself means they can play along. When he glances over at Alex, he looks displeased or uncomfortable but it’s hard to tell. He gives the barest nod towards him and Michael makes a big show of stretching.

 

“Whatever,” Michael says, “probably the welcome I should have gotten when I first came here, right?”

 

Alex immediately relaxes and rolls his eye.

 

“Don’t forget to take your metal off.”

 

Shit.

 

He’s gotta lose the robe but the fastenings are definitely metal and he knows the belt he has on under it is. Alex fidgets as he reaches into his back pocket. Michael is distracted from his own concern to see him hold out a slim card, carefully so that Michael can’t see it. He raises an eyebrow like he’s not also standing on a razor’s edge. The guard glances at the card and looks at Alex, almost sympathetically.

 

“I’m sorry, sir, we have to scan it.”

 

“That’s alright,” Alex says, “I figured I’d try.”

 

Alex sits down and Michael watches as he carefully rolls up his pant leg. His brain shorts out, there’s no other explanation. He has a stroke. He has to be having one because his eyes have stopped working. They’ve stopped working because what they’re seeing isn’t true. It can’t be. He and Alex have been engaged in combat but they didn’t kill each other. They came out unscathed aside from a few bumps and bruises. That’s all there is to it. All of Alex’s awkward movements have been because this is a fucking weird situation. Or his body has to adjust to the space station. Or something. That’s the only reason that makes sense. He’s hurt Alex emotionally and that sucks but he can fix it. Okay he’s also killed his dad but come on. He can still go back to the guy who stole someone’s shirt. Or he could. Maybe in some far flung universe, but there was a sliver of hope.

 

That sliver is gone the second he sees the metal where Alex’s leg should be.

 

Alex looks resolutely down as he undoes whatever is holding the bottom third of his leg. Only Michael thinks he can pick out the hesitance to his movements and the disgust that crosses his features when he looks at the wound. It’s new. It’s new enough to still be awkward and uncomfortable. Suddenly every flash of discomfort on Alex’s face, every awkward maneuver in and out of every chair makes such alarming sense. It’s been awkward because Alex has been trying to make it look natural. Because Michael will bet any and everything he owns that his father wasn’t the only thing he took during their last battle.

 

“Sir? General Rath?”

 

Alex’s head flies up and looks around with surprise and horror before he looks at Michael. Michael is aware that his power is being used, but he doesn’t care. No-one’s dying because of a few levitating objects. The only thing he can think of is crossing the distance to where Alex is sitting, his gaze furiously going between Alex’s face and his leg. Alex straightens up in the chair and looks him in the eye.

 

“Michael, I’m fine,” he says and it’s been years since anyone spoke to him in that tone.

 

“When?” He demands.

 

“I said I’m fine,” Alex says, “we’re in a war.”

 

“That’s not what I asked!”

 

Michael’s frustration makes everything set down with a solid sound that’s louder than he was expecting. His family knows his warning signs, they know when to stop pushing or back off. Alex doesn’t. And if he did, Michael pretty sure he wouldn’t either way. Alex shifts his hand onto his kneecap but Michael can see how gentle his hand is. The question hangs heavy between them.

 

Did he do this?

 

Did he almost kill Alex? He remembers Alex as whip fast and smart, speed even more prized than strength. If he thinks about that day, one of the clearest memories is how fast Alex was on his feet, pushing Michael behind him. His slow movements aren’t aches and pains from a decade of war. Of course Alex is too strong for that. His aches and pains are because Michael or someone under his command blew off his leg. For the first time since they’ve started talking, Alex looks at his hand. Michael shoves it into his sleeve and something almost triumphant sparks in Alex’s eyes.

 

“This just makes us even,” He says, “Michael.”

 

Something snaps.

 

Maybe it’s seeing what he’s done, maybe it’s his name on Alex’s lips but he shoves everything into putting up every psychic defense he has. It shows on his face. Alex isn’t psychic but even he can see when he’s being shut out. Michael forces his voice to be cold as he looks at Alex.

 

“I don’t know that name anymore. It’s Rath,” he says.

 

Never one to back from a challenge, Alex looks definitely up at him.

 

“Apologies, General,” He says and spits Michael’s undeserved title back at him.

 

“I’m naked under the robe, you can scan me for fastenings,” Michael says to the guard as Alex chokes on his own spit behind him.

 

Good, let him.

 

Michael gets scanned and then they move to the photos, all their mangled and missing parts tucked away.


	7. Chapter 7

Michael says nothing throughout the agonizing photo op.

 

For someone who once dreamed of being a rock star, Alex has never fully enjoyed getting his picture taken. It’s always been about what people can see. Like they can see his secrets if they look at a photo long enough. Of course the biggest of those is standing next to him, practically hamming it up for the camera and if Alex didn’t feel nauseous he’d find it kind of hot. Michael steadfastly ignores his gaze. Every attempt that Alex makes to look at him, he refuses to engage in. Michael’s always had the subtly of a ten ton truck so it’s obvious what he’s doing. At least to Alex. To everyone else it’s a sign that Alex is probably winning in the negotiations. Their great hero. Who is also a liar. He holds out for as long as he can until Michael shakes his head and grins.

 

“I gotta grab some air,” he says, “haven’t been back here in years, gotta clear my head.”

 

“Being alone—“ one of the guards starts.

 

“I’ll go with him,” Alex volunteers. He looks at Michael and dares him to say anything. Michael shrugs.

 

“I feel safer already,” he says.

 

They make their way to a quieter part of the consulate and Alex takes the lead,  bringing them to what he knows is a quiet place where they cannot he overheard. Michael pushes ahead and walks in. When Alex goes to close the door, it bangs shut with such force he swears he can feel it up his leg. He presses his lips together and steadies himself, turning around to face Michael. This is Michael, that seventeen year old who was willing to tackle a fully grown man if it made the person he loved safer. Who kissed him in the UFO Emporium like he was the air Michael needed to survive. Any part of him that’s the feared General Rath has fallen away. For a moment, Alex is jealous. Wildly jealous. Michael can reach that part of himself, that part is still there. Alex has his secrets, but who he is isn’t a facade. 

 

“I blew off your leg?” Michael demands. 

 

“We were at war—“

 

“It was when I killed your father, right?” Alex’s stomach bottoms out.

 

“You knew about that?” Michael nods, “but you said—“

 

“I didn’t know you were going to lie about it!” Michael snaps angrily.

 

“So you were testing me,” Alex says calmly.

 

“What? No!” Michael’s eyebrows draw together in confusion. Alex keeps his face the same and Michael cracks like he used to, “I didn’t know.”

 

Now it’s Alex’s turn to be confused. He struggles to remain impassive, but it seems whatever shred of the child he was that still exists in him is dug out by Michael. Still. There’s a stab of annoyance in the back of his throat. Of all the things that Michael makes him feel, hopeful is the most annoying. Hope for him tastes like war. Like the world on fire and his father whispering at him to remember as blood pours from his lips. It’s his fault that they are at war. His fault, his families fault but he’s the catalyst. Without him they would have left Michael alone. He forces himself to focus on Michael and what he didn’t know. Michael shifts his weight and deflates momentarily before looking back at him.

 

“I didn’t know it was you in that plane.”

 

“That doesn’t matter,” Alex says, thinking of the bunkers humanity lives in and the destruction that has rained down on the planet.

 

“The hell it doesn’t—“

 

“You summoned a spaceship and tried to conquer earth!” Alex interrupts, finally running out of patience, “of course it matters! Those are people out there. Human beings.”

 

“I never liked them,” Michael says.

 

“You were more than happy to pretend to be one when I knew you,” Alex shoots back. 

 

Michael’s mouth snaps shut and a surprised, almost wounded look takes over his face. Alex swallows tightly. This wasn’t the route that he was expecting the conversation to take, it was the one thing he was trying to get through this without talking about. He’s going to cause another war. To his surprise, Michael drags two chairs over with his telekinesis and drops into one, motioning him over. Alex walks over but doesn’t sit, even as Michael slouches in his. If it was a truckbed instead of a chair, Alex thinks it could be the same as that day in the parking lot. Michael looks at the chair and Alex just looks at Michael. With a look of exasperation that Alex doesn’t remember teaching him, Michael undoes the collar of his robes. 

 

Alex drops hard into the chair.

 

So hard pain laces up his leg and he has to slam his eyes shut and try hard not to yell. He breathes in deeply before opening his eyes and looking at his old t-shirt. He had always assumed it was laying in the tool shed when the aliens leveled Roswell. He never went back in there before it happened. His T-shirt, his posters, any visions he had of a safe place. He figured they were all dust. Not that his shirt was on Michael’s back an entire star system away. Michael looks devastated but more worried as Alex forces himself to relax. 

 

“I figured that was destroyed when you leveled Roswell,” he says. Michael winces, “What?”

 

“That wasn’t me,” he says. Alex raises his eyebrows. Michael leans forward, “I didn’t level Roswell.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Alex questions, telling his heart to stop hammering as that sound gets louder and louder, “that night—“

 

“Isobel got attacked,” he says. 

 

“So did you,” Alex points out.

 

“Not like that,” Michael says. Alex looks down at his hand. Michael puts it on his knee where they can both see it. Alex looks away, “I didn’t call them.”

 

The floor falls out, that’s the only explanation for why his stomach flies into his throat. The lie that’s ruled his life for the past decade seems to break apart. It also seems to take his entire world with it. The horror robes him of everything except his ability to form a single word. Thankfully it doesn’t come out as soft and breathless as he’s expecting. Built on a lie or not, he’s a trained solider at this point. Sounding confident when he’s anything but is a job requirement. 

 

“What?”

 

“I didn’t call them,” Michael repeats, “none of us did. There was another alien here, he was using Isobel,” he explains, “the three of them magnified it,” he shifts and again it’s a Michael Alex has thought he dreamed up some days, “I can’t send out that kind of distress call. Only royalty can.” 

 

Alex just stares at him. 

 

He didn’t end the world. The only horror that he has to remember is that his father was a homophobic monster. Apparently him falling for an alien had nothing to do with what happened. It was all just aliens. They’ve all been pawns in this. It’s a horrible feeling, Alex has always loathed feeling powerless, but it feels better than the knowledge that he’s ended the world. The guilt that’s been a lead weight for all of his adult life turns brittle and hollow. Like a rusted old bomb that he saw in a museum once. Useless and falling apart. He stares at Michael and tries to see the enemy he’s fought, instead of the boy he loved but Michael makes that impossible. Not just from what he says but from the way he hunches over and braces his elbows on his knees. Especially from the way that he looks at Alex like he can see right through to whatever he has in place of a soul. 

 

“Why did you attack Roswell?”

 

“I didn’t,” Michael says, “the one who was controlling Isobel, he wanted to burn it to the ground,” Michael glares down at the floor, “we were already on another ship so Max couldn’t give the order to stop them.”

 

Alex shakes his head and Michael frowns. 

 

“There was only one ship—“

 

Michael at least has the grace to look bashful. Something tightens in Alex’s gut. Something cold and cruel. His life and his actual limb have been forfeit to fighting a war he didn’t actually cause. But Alex has been taught to defend his home, even if that home is just his own head. He would still fight for it. He’s here because he is a good pilot, he’s defended the world. Even if the original reason is not what he thought it was. 

 

“We don’t need ships for interplanetary travel,” Michael admits. 

 

“Then why—“ Alex starts, unable to keep the desperation out of his voice. 

 

“I didn’t want to invade earth,” Michael says almost quietly, “if we fought in the atmosphere, I thought it would minimize the casualties.”

 

Michael has been protecting earth this whole time. Alex has just been running in circles. There have been times in this war where the cruelty of the world has been incomprehensible. Hell, there have been times before this where that’s been the case. But Alex can’t wrap his head around what Michael is saying. Michael looks at him steadily, but Alex can’t hear anything over the roaring in his ears. How could he think he could trust his father? Even for a moment? How could he think that Michael would do what he said he would? The thoughts tumble over and over in his head and he stands up, finally able to use his hands to push himself up like he’s been trying to hide. The amount of pain medication he’s on swells up and he has to grip the chair to keep from toppling. 

  
“Alex?” 

His own weakness makes bile crawl into his throat. And the world start to swim. It certainly warps Michael’s face, he looks abruptly much younger. Wide eyed and innocent and Alex can almost believe the concern on his face is for him. They’ve been trying to kill each other for a decade so he knows it’s not but still. Concern grows on Michael’s face and he steps forward. Alex tries to step back, but it’s awkward. Back is not something he’s good at just yet, he’s been careful not to try while he’s negotiating this. His feet tangle as his weakness seems to choke the light. 

 

“Lock the doors,” he gets out. 

 

“Alex!” 

 

“Do it,” he wheezes and he hears something heavy slide as the world tilts.

 

Michael yells his name again and everything goes black.


End file.
